From where we left off
by kouw
Summary: Their kiss goodbye was a promise and when he returns to her, they pick up from where they left off
1. From where we left off

**Chapter 1**

* * *

The war raged on and on for years and Emelius Browne has grown thin and gaunt. The day he left Pepperinge Eye wearing a new uniform and an optimistic smile is long gone. He has seen a bit of the world since he left that day. A Europe that lay in ruin. There was very little left of what he remembered from his grammar school history books. There was never any time to see the treasures the locals had hidden in crypts and cupboards.

He is tired. His kit weighs heavily on his back every time he moves. His uniform is dirty, his boots need repairing. He is one of the first who will be demobbed. They have taken his measurements and they have told him a suit is waiting for him when he gets back to headquarters. The boat sways. A few of the lads look fairly green about the gills. He doesn't mind it much. Only a few hours until he sets foot on English soil again.

Where everything isn't as it used to be. Of course he isn't who he used to be, either. There isn't much left of the jovial 'professor'. He has seen things he will never forget. Cruelty beyond words. Violence against humanity he keeps seeing in his nightmares. No, Professor Emelius Browne is a shadow that lurks in a far corner of his current personality.

He is an old man. He wasn't young when he went to war, but he would have called himself middle-aged at the worst. He had often felt young, still. There was a decided spring in his step and he still thought the world was filled with endless possibilities.

He had always been searching. He never found his purpose and he didn't care. Not much, anyway. He was someone who seized the day. Who found opportunities. Who made the most of what life chucked at him. Yes, of course he was often lonely. He didn't dress well - the demob suit would alter that for a while: he'd have a whole suit and two shirts, a tie, shoes, a hat. Even a raincoat.

He hopes there will be hot water when they get to barracks. He has been cleaning himself with rough flannels and cold water and serviceable soap. He is clean - or at least as clean as he can be. He is just chilled to the bone. He feels as if he will never be warm again..

He holds his kit against him, hugging it in an effort to chase the cold away. In his duffel are his letters. The only things he would guard with his life. The only things he treasures. The paper is strong. Pre-war quality. The envelopes are being held together by a piece of string.

"I see her!" a bloke calls out excitedly. The others jump up and join the kerfuffle. Emelius stays put.

He waits.

He will not believe it until he sets foot on land.

* * *

She hoped her use of substitutiary locomotion aided the war effort, and perhaps it did, that one evening when the German Navy managed to set foot on the Devonshire coast, but looking at the big picture, it had not mattered very much at all.

The war lasted another four years and though VE-Day is behind them - and with it the celebrations and what she called mass hysteria - but nothing has really changed at all. They are still the four of them in her big hopscotch house, trying to mend and make do. There never seem to be enough eggs and Eglantine is glad she resolved to be a vegetarian long before the war, because she doesn't manage to get meat on the table more than twice a week.

Luckily it is only Charles who kicks up a fuss about it, even though he is well aware of the shortages. He is happy she doesn't feed them rosehips and stewed nettles anymore. He is glad to be wearing clothes that fit and that are clean. Charles is fifteen now and he considers himself to be a man. "Someone needs to look after you lot," he says and Eglantine raises her eyebrows at such nonsense, but she understands. He needs to have a purpose. Responsibility.

Paul is ten and he is just glad he has a home in Pepperinge Eye and lots of friends. He is learning to swim in the cold, salty water of the sea that laps on the beach. He is a cheerful lad and he brings much joy wherever he goes. He is very popular, but not too big to give Aunt Eglantine a cuddle every now and then. If she insists. Though she never has to ask, really.

No, Eglantine's greatest challenge is raising Carrie. When the children had been shoved into her motorcycle and sidecar, she had thought Carrie would be the easiest. After all: like Eglantine herself, Carrie was a girl. What could Eglantine possibly know about boys?

But looking at things as they stand, it is much simpler with Charles and Paul. Not that Carrie makes Eglantine's life difficult - oh, they have their little spats and there's some challenging behaviour that Eglantine knew to expect - but Eglantine _worries_.

About Carrie's future. The girl has a great talent for science and she could easily go to university if she keeps applying herself. Of course Carrie is only thirteen now, but still. The teacher is very certain Carrie could do very well - if she was a boy.

Charles had no great capacity for sitting still for very long. She had already spoken to the village baker and asked for an apprenticeship for Charles. Paul is still too young to really consider. He takes his 11+ next year and then they'll see. She can see him reading English, to become a writer. He still has a great imagination.

Just like this man who remains painfully absent from their lives. His letters are a rarity these days. When he left, that sunny morning, escorted by the Home Guard, he had smiled. Eglantine doubts he smiles much these days. He brought some much needed optimism into her life. Something she could do with right now.

* * *

The barracks are surprisingly comfortable, even if the showers are dodgy and the food even worse. He feels a little calmer here: there isn't the threat of having to do and see unspeakable things. His fellow soldiers are as tired as he is and morale isn't very high. They are all waiting to be demobbed. He knows the date he is to be released from active duty and it is creeping closer.

He considers writing Eglantine that he is coming back and if he could bother her for a few nights in the spare bedroom. Three nights at the most, just to get his bearings. To figure things out. He doesn't know what he could possibly do: there is no great need for bad magicians in a post-war world. He doesn't have any vital occupational skills: he used to be an entertainer. Something he could never be now.

He can't even seem to juggle anymore.

The image of running three apples through his hands at the dinner table, the children looking on in amused semi-admiration, Eglantine subdued with a sad, indulgent smile. The moment he stepped on Cosmic Creeper's tail and dropped an apple in the gravy, making it fly everywhere but mostly into his face. Eglantine's liberated laughter and the children's relief.

Pictures of a simple life that kept him going throughout many a cold, weary night.

But he doesn't write.

Lots of men are talking about surprising their loved ones. Emelius considers doing the same. Because she can't very well turn him away when he is on the doorstep in his new demob suit, the raincoat over his arm. The children - though Charlie would never think of himself of a child, of course - would possibly cheer.

He missed them as much as he missed Eglantine. Their letters were always filled with little tidbits of village life. So he knows that Aunt Eglantine (he doesn't know when they started calling her that instead of Miss Price and he wonders who it was that started it) still hasn't fallen for Mr Jelk's charms.

Not that Emelius expected her to, of course. After all: she had kissed him goodbye, just before the old biddies of the Home Guard had come to the house to escort him to the station. And that had not been a shy, prim kiss on the cheek. If he closes his eyes and concentrates very hard, as hard as he did when he had to turn himself into a rabbit to escape the Jerries, he can feel her lips against his.

But four years have passed and he won't come to her door with a cheery smile. What is left of him, when stripped of his optimism and gaiety?

* * *

She has known about the demob scheme since September last year, but the date of the first men being released back to civilian life has come and gone and he hasn't knocked on her door.

So she waits with the patience of a caged animal. She tries to run her household the way she has become accustomed to: she makes breakfast with Paul's help, tends to the housekeeping tasks she loathes, reads until it's time for lunch. She eats with the children and sends them off to school again. Eglantine reads some more, writes letters, tallies her ration books, and tends to her garden. When the children come home, they have chores and homework and then it is time for dinner. They do the dishes according to an ingenious rota that Carried devised.

Sometimes the homework needs to be finished, sometimes they play board games or listen to the radio. Paul makes jigsaws, Charles sketches. Carrie pours over formulas and makes notes.

It's all very domestic and sometimes dull. They have very little excitement in their lives.

They miss Emelius.

Eglantine misses him. She misses how he would cheer up the children, or how he would aggravate her. She misses being appreciated, for her brain and her heart. She misses the way he could look at her in a way that made her heart both race and clench.

If he doesn't come soon, she'll give Paul back the bedknob that she confiscated when she found out he tried to sneak off to Nabumboo.

If Emelius doesn't come home soon, she'll convince the children they will need to go and look for him. 


	2. Palm of her hand

The sun is at her highest point when he gets off the train. He is wearing his faded uniform and he is carrying his demob suit and grants in his duffel bag. There are cigarettes and chocolates and coupons for socks. He doesn't smoke anymore as it leaves him winded these days, but he's been given them and in this time of austerity, nobody turns down a gift.

The chocolates are for Eglantine and the children.

He hopes he won't run into anyone. He won't know what to say and couldn't bear it if the village knows he is back before she does. So he walks quickly, his boots getting covered with dust that whips up with every step. It's been dry the last few weeks. The crops could use a good shower, but Emelius is glad it's not raining. He feels he looks shoddy enough as it is.

From the road he sees the small fortress where Eglantine had bewitched the armour. The sign post that's positioned at the fork in the road has been restored to its former glory.

_Pepperinge Eye._

He swallows when he sees the name of the village above him in stark black letters against the white sign.

Less than a mile.

But he doesn't follow the road to the village. He turns left. In the distance he can see the sea. It's not far now. His heart is hammering. He is nervous and he pushes the nails of his left hand against the softness of his palm.

God, let her be pleased to see him, he almost prays.

The house looks exactly the way it did when he left. The shed where Eglantine kept her potions and spells has been restored. He wonders if she still practices. If her notebook of spells is still - or maybe again - being put to use.

Emelius stands in front of the door, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. He swallows. He lifts his hand and balls it into a first, ready to knock.

* * *

Eglantine swears under her breath. Today did not start out in too great a fashion, for she slept through the alarm. In her efforts to prevent the children from being late for school, she had decided to forgo the porridge, which earned her several grumpy remarks from the two eldest children and a very cheery thanks from the youngest.

That had only been the start of it. The hoover had given up the ghost halfway through the persian rug and she was fresh out of household vinegar and soda, so the bathroom she had planned to clean today would have to remain filthy for another day or two until she had time to go into the village.

Not that she doesn't have time today, but she was looking forward to putting her feet up. She has found some wonderful articles stating that the Brassica Oleracea italica she has been growing in her garden could be a very nice and nutritious alternative to the cauliflower the children don't seem to enjoy much.

But just as she is to sit down with the journal there is a knock on the door. A hesitant knock that she can't place. It can't be Mr Jelk as she has finally managed to make it clear to him that she is not interested and it isn't Mrs Hobson as she usually knocks and then promptly opens the door, calling 'hello'.

Eglantine goes to the door after heaving a deep, annoyed sigh and opens it.

* * *

Memories flash before his mind's eye when he knocks. Thoughts of speaking animals, football matches, dancing in Portobello Road. He suddenly remembers with startling clarity the kindness, critical questions and determination of the woman who lives here. Standing at her front door gives him a sense of belonging that he only felt when he was a guest in this house before.

He can hear her muttering and he has no doubt he has dragged her away from a book or an article about some kind of medicinal herb. He knows she will have a cup of strong tea on the table. But no biscuit. Biscuits are treats you need to earn. Though he thinks she has earned several biscuits, fair and square, even with the sugar rationing as it is.

He can hear her coming even closer and then there's the creaking of the door.

He sees her hand before he sees her face - her eyes wide, pretty lips slightly parted - and he can't bring himself to smile. A breath he has been holding for four years escapes him and he feels giddy and dizzy. Eglantine seems to be more shocked than anything else, standing on her doormat in her stockinged feet.

"Any room at the inn?" he says and he could hit himself for not being more serious.

"Emelius?" She sounds incredulous. Her hand raises slowly until it touches his cheek.

"Only a little the worse for wear," he quips again and he rolls his eyes at himself, though he notices she doesn't.

Then there's the swift movement of her other hand and it grabs the faded khaki of his uniform and tightens so immensely, he can see her knuckles go stark white.

"Is it really you?" she asks and he nods.

"What's left of me."

The palm of her hand is soft against the scruffiness of his cheek and her thumb brushes the stubborn beard that he can't seem to get completely rid off with the standard issued razor in the few minutes he is granted in the barrack's bathroom.

But he drops his duffle bag and his arm steals around Eglantine's waist and there they are: on the doorstep, he is still outside and she is just across the threshold. She smells of tea and shampoo.

She feels like home.

* * *

He is thin; he is much too thin and he looks tired and something else, something she can't quite place and why would she be able to? She has only been in his arms too few times before. But he smells like cheap soap and his cheeks are scruffy from not being able to shave close enough and it doesn't matter at all.

He is here. He is home.

His duffel bag falls to the ground with a thud and his arm around her makes her feel all warm and jittery.

"I didn't know you were coming today," she starts. She is pleased she has enough of a grip on herself to make her voice sound as if she has control over it.

"I didn't know if I was welcome," he answers and Eglantine frowns.

"How could you possibly think you wouldn't be?" It's more an accusation than a question. "After all we have been through and after all we've written over the years?"

He shrugs. Eglantine slowly lets go of his uniform. Her hand feels stiff and there are creases in the fabric where she grabbed it.

"Come," she says and steps back, out of his embrace and into the house. He picks up the duffel bag and he takes the two paces he needs to get inside the house. Eglantine holds her breath.

The door closes and he is still there.

She is surprised she isn't dreaming. She has dreamed of Emelius coming back. Thought how they would celebrate and she has been saving rations for this moment. This is nothing like she dreamed of. There's nothing in the house of a celebratory nature and the children are in school, but he is here. He is here and her heart lifts.

"Did you really not know you would be welcome?" she asks with a frown.

He sets his bag by the hatstand and appears to be searching for the right words. This man who could charm the birds off the trees with his sweet talk, who could sell the unsaleable. Who could make you believe anything.

"I'm not the jolly professor I used to be," he says by way of explanation.

* * *

She smiles so knowingly. As if she holds a secret he cannot fathom.

"You were never a jolly professor," she says. "That was only who you appeared to be."

She takes his hand and guides him to the sofa where she makes him sit down. She plants herself next to him and somehow, he can't properly explain, the cold that crept in his bones some time around 1942, starts to thaw. Just a little. Enough to stop the voice in his mind that keeps telling him he is worthless for a moment or two.

She hasn't let go of his hand.

He had expected he would talk incessantly. Like he used to. But he finds he doesn't know what to say. He is so happy to see her. That she is alright - though there are circles under her eyes and a few lines on her forehead that weren't there when he left.

He clears his throat and leans back gingerly. When his back is supported he asks: "Where are the children?"

She looks at the clock. "They'll be here shortly. It's almost time for lunch."

It's the same clock ticking in the same spot it did before he left. The house looks practically the same, but with the telltale signs of children living there. The drawings on the table, not cleared away from this morning. A pair of girls' socks on top of the sewing basket.

"I have brought them some presents," he says. His voice feels constricted in his throat. It aches to get the sounds out.

"You shouldn't have," she says and her smile is so gentle, it almost hurts.

"It isn't much. Just a couple of small things."

The silence stretches between them and she still holds his hand. He remembers filling every little bit of silence with chatter, but with Eglantine he doesn't need to. He may need to try with the children. He doesn't know how much they will expect him to be the man he used to be. Will they think he will juggle for them? Sing a silly song and do a funny jig for them?

He can. If they need him to. He can do practically anything for them. Be silly, be jovial, be strong, be cheerful. For Paul he can be all of those things. For Carrie. For Charles - who no longer allows anyone to call him Charlie now he is almost sixteen and quite the man of the house.

Though of course Eglantine is capable enough without ever needing anyone to protect her.

Her thumb softly strokes his knuckles. He hopes she doesn't see the scars that litter his hands. The sounds of young voices and shuffling feet break the silence and Eglantine lets go of his hand and stands up from the sofa.

"Ready or not…" she jests.


	3. Stockings and chocolates

She remembers being put on the train.

They were luckier than others, but not as lucky as some. Charles, Paul and Carrie had been put on a third class carriage with their meagre possessions and without the gas masks they were told to be carrying. They only had two hankies to share between them and not a single face cloth. There was nobody on the platform to wave them goodbye.

Miss Price had not wanted them, but thankfully that changed over the first few days they stayed with her. When Professor Browne came home with them and they had their tea all together: actually cooked food and they had a laugh. Until the Professor started to take the pinny off so clumsily when Mrs Hobday gave him that elated smile. Aunt Eglantine had blushed and he'd kissed her hand, before he left. It's been four years and she still doesn't understand why he took off like a sprinter in a race, leaving all of them hurt and more vulnerable than they had been before.

But he returned to them and he helped all of them fight off the Germans that landed on their beach. Those German soldiers were terribly ill-mannered, as Aunt Eglantine said and Carrie definitely agreed. They shouted a lot.

The professor never shouted. He was on their side. Maybe he was a little awkward at times and a bit cringey sometimes, but he really cared for them. Without him they could never have pulled off that stunt with the suits of armour from the museum.

Afterwards, he had caught Miss Price and helped her inside and when they thought nobody was looking, they kissed in the shadows of the kitchen. But both Carrie and Paul had seen it and it made Carrie feel both a little jittery and frightfully happy.

Until he decided to leave again.

Carrie cried when he returned from the enlistment office to the house in his uniform and while she waved when he was escorted to the station by the Home Guard, she cried again when they were out of sight. Miss Price pretended she was alright and that things were just as they ought to be, but Carried had seen the tears that leaked onto her cheeks and ran ragged lines through the powder.

It's not fair, Carrie insists, that some men get to come home sooner than others.

"Why did Madge's dad come home…" she asks her brothers as they walk back to the house for lunch.

"Oh, don't start all that again!" Paul says and rolls his eyes.

"I just want him to come home, that's all. He told us he misses us, too. And he said he would be back before we'd grown an inch taller and look at Charlie!"

Charles turns to his sister. "He'll be here when he gets here. No need to get your knickers in a knot."

"Charlie!" Carrie yells with a lot of indignation for a thirteen-year-old.

"Well, we can't do anything about it and since there's no more fighting we don't have to worry, do we. He'll be back." Charles puts his arm around Carrie's shoulder and squeezes a bit, giving her a bit of a side-hug.

They weren't very touchy-feely when they arrived in Pepperinge Eye. Not even Paul, though he did sometimes like a bit of a cuddle. But after Mr Browne left (though she supposes they'll call him _Uncle Emelius_ now. It's how he closes his letters to them - it's how she addresses him in her letters to him) they all became a little softer.

The children leave the main road and follow the path that leads to the house. It's just another ordinary Thursday. The sun is shining and there's a breeze rolling in from the sea. There'll be cheese sandwiches, with pickle for Charlie and without for her and Paul and a big glass of milk for all of them. Aunt Eglantine will have set the table for them: four plates on the table and five chairs under it.

Paul is the first to jump up the three steps and he pushes open the front door while Charlie and Carrie follow him. But their brother has barely set foot over the threshold before they can hear him exclaim loudly:

"Cor blimey!"

* * *

He isn't entirely sure how it happened, but suddenly he is covered in children. Paul has jumped on him and Carrie sits next to him with her arms around him and Charles is looming over the pile while practically pounding on his shoulder.

Eglantine has let go of his hand, which now feels awfully cold, but it warms up again as he rubs Paul's back.

"We thought you'd never come home!" Carrie says through her tears and he bites his lip.

"I missed ya, gov!" Paul says and Emelius finds the way the boy mixes his accents terribly endearing.

"Glad you're back," Charles says, a little less effusive compared to the other two, but Emelius never expected him to show much excitement.

"Look at how you've grown, all of you!" Emelius says and he gently frees himself from Carrie's grip and puts Paul upright.

"Let me have a good look at you," he requests and the three children stand next to each other, as if they are soldiers awaiting inspection.

He is surprised to see he can look Charles straight in the eye. Carrie is quite a bit sorther, but obviously not the slight little thing he left behind. And Paul? Well, he has shot up and filled out. Then his eyes land on Eglantine, who is standing to the side. She hasn't changed very much at all and she is looking at them with tender eyes that make his heart both leap and ache.

"You have done a marvellous job," he tells her and it must be a trick of the light, but it looks like there's some flushed pink in her cheeks.

"They do all the growing themselves," she counters with a smile.

"Are you here to stay?" Carrie asks and her voice is barely audible but filled with hope.

"I have been demobbed," he says.

It's not really an answer. Because he hasn't broached the subject with Eglantine yet.

"What does that mean?" Paul asks and Charles whacks him over the head.

"Charles!" Eglantine admonishes. "There was absolutely no need for that."

"Sorry," Charles says, but he doesn't sound very apologetic.

"It means that Emelius doesn't have to go back to headquarters, or barracks or anything like that. He is no longer in the Army," Eglantine explains.

"Hurray!" Paul shouts and throws himself at Emelius again, who catches him.

"Now, before you have to go back to school," Emelius starts and Charles shakes his head which can easily be interpreted as '_good luck sweet talking me back to that prison_', "There are some small things for all of you in my bag."

Carrie goes to the hatstand and retrieves his duffel, pulling it with her over the wooden floor.

"What did you get me?" Paul asks.

"Let me see…" Emelius dives into the duffel bag as if he searches an invisible room that lies beneath it.

"Here… for Paul." He gives Paul a small package. The boy pulls off the wrapping and holds it up high: "It's chocolates! And a snowglobe! And this figurine, it is the Eiffel Tower, Aunt Eglantine! And there are soldiers!"

Emelius smiles - a true smile, one he didn't know could still surface - and gives Carrie the next package. "I got chocolates, too!" she exclaims and immediately pulls the wrapping from a flat object: "And a book! It's… oh! Aunt Eglantine! It's called 'Beginner's spellbook, vol. 1'!"

Eglantine has stepped closer and softly strokes Carrie's fringe away from her forehead. "That's a lovely present," she says.

"And for Charles," Emelius says and hands Charles his gift.

"You got me chocolates, too! I am glad you didn't think I was too big for that now." He pulls away the paper of the second part of the gift. "Binoculars?"

Emelius nods. "Not from our side, though," he explains.

Charles takes a deep breath and Emelius can see the lad's cheeks reddening. "Thank you! I can't wait to show the lads!"

He dives in again and pulls out another package and turns to Eglantine. "I know it's not much," he starts and she shakes her head.

"You are here," she says, as if it's enough.

* * *

Eglantine holds the present in her hands. It doesn't weigh much. She sits down on the sofa and starts unwrapping it with trembling fingers. The first thing she finds is a pair of rayon stockings. Good ones. Pre-war ones.

She looks up and finds that Paul is admiring his snowglobe and Charles's binoculars in turn and Carrie - bless her heart - has already started on the book. Emelius however, is staring at her. She gives him another smile - she can't believe how much she has already smiled today. More than she has in weeks.

There is more in the package. A ration book which Eglantine understands is part of his demobbing grant and then there is one other, small box. She holds her breath as she picks it up. It doesn't weigh much, but of course it wouldn't, being that small.

There are only a few things that can possibly be in boxes like these and while she knows that Emelius doesn't have a bean, she also knows he is terribly inventive. And exceptionally charming when he chooses to be. Usually if he wants something badly enough he will find a way to get it. Had he not sung her praises in a deserted townhouse library while there was an unexploded bomb laying in the garden when he thought she would dress up like a floozy to be his assistant in his illusionist act?

She has no doubt he can get what he needs when the need is high.

So she opens the little box and raises her eyebrows in surprise at what she finds inside.


	4. Not like the movies

It's not the Star of Astoroth, but it is just as magical.

A dove lies in a bed of pastel blue cotton wool. A symbol of love and devotion and Eglantine blushes fiercely. She can feel Emelius's eyes upon her and she touches the delicate brooch with a trembling finger.

"It's beautiful," she whispers.

"Will you wear it?" Emelius asks and he reaches out to her.

She takes his hand and nods. "Yes, of course I will," she says and stands up from the sofa, allowing him to embrace her again.

She looks up and his lips find hers. They kiss. Sweetly. Lips barely touching, his breath whispering across her skin.

When Paul lets out a decided '_oh yuk!_' they break apart, but Emelius doesn't let go of her and she finds she fits perfectly against him. Her arm wraps around his waist and she lays her head against his shoulder. Emelius promptly kisses her on her hair.

Together they look at the children who are delighting in their gifts. Paul has already smudged his face with melted chocolate. Carrie is absorbed by her book. Charles is looking at them, holding the binoculars tightly.

"Carrie asked if you were staying." Charles's voice sounds strained. "But you didn't answer."

"I did. I said I was demobbed."

"That doesn't answer the question, though, does it?" Charles persists.

Emelius doesn't say anything but she can feel him tense.

"Charles, what do you mean exactly, when you ask… erm…"

"Uncle Emelius," Carrie provides them with a convenient nomer, not even looking up from her book.

"If he is staying?" Eglantine finishes.

"Just as we say. We want to know if he is here to stay. With us." Charles stares at his shoes, obviously a little embarrassed.

"Charles…" Emelius starts and he sounds so helpless, Eglantine can't help but jump in.

"He is staying tonight, at the very least. We'll make up the spare room for him."

"Are you really alright with that?" Emelius asks and Eglantine shakes her head at him.

"How could you think I'd turn you out? After all this waiting? After the dove?" She raises herself up on her toes and kisses his cheek.

"Now, children, you need to eat quickly, it is almost time for you to go back to school."

Eglantine knows they don't want to go back and she doesn't blame them, but it's a school day and besides: she and Emelius have things to discuss.

"Oh, come _on_," Charles whines and Paul is jumping up and down: "I am going to tell _everyone_ Uncle Emelius is back home!"

Carrie puts down her book and goes to the fridge, taking out the block of cheese and she puts it on the table. She takes the bread from the bread bin and the plates from the cupboard. The margarine is taken from the shelf and she sits down, ever so quietly.

* * *

Why did she have to have two brothers? Honestly, why can't they see Uncle Emelius and Aunt Eglantine need some time together? They have things they have to talk about! Sisters would definitely have seen the same Carrie had and understood what Carrie does:

Uncle Emelius needs to ask Aunt Eglantine to marry him and then he can stay in the house and they can finally be a family. Carrie has waited ages for this moment and those stupid boys are ruining it! Did they not see Aunt Eglantine opening that jewellery box and how Uncle Emelius took her hand? Carrie saw very clearly. Carrie rolls her eyes over the way Paul said '_yuk_' or some such when Uncle Emelius kissed Aunt Eglantine when they thought Charles, Paul and Carrie were preoccupied with their gifts.

She is very good at pretending to read.

It is a very useful skill. A spy skill, if you like. Carrie might have liked to have been a spy during the war. She sees lots of things others don't. She is what her teacher calls: observant. And she knows when to keep her mouth shut. Very unlike stupid Charles.

He is almost sixteen and he doesn't seem to have much of a brain. Carrie really doesn't understand why so many of the girls from school moon over him. He is rude and he wants to be a baker. A baker! Not that there's anything wrong with being a baker, of course. But it is so boring. Really. Who wants to wake up at three in the morning to bake bread for others?

Carrie has other plans. If she can come up with the money, she will go to university and study as long as she possibly can and become a famous scientist. Like Marie Curie. And she won't marry, just like Aunt Eglantine.

There isn't going to be another war ever again, so Carrie doesn't have to worry about chasing away Nazis or some such. She can dedicate herself to her work. Just like Aunt Eglantine applied herself to becoming a witch.

Maybe Carrie can become a witch, too. There were many spells based on physics, she remembers. The many jars in the shed were potions and really, making potions is just advanced chemistry.

Isn't it.

Carrie stretches out, takes a slice of bread and butters it. She slices the cheese and starts to eat. The boys finally follow her example. She glances at Aunt Eglantine and Uncle Emelius who are looking at each other.

Yes, Carrie thinks. Just give them a bit of time. They'll get there.

* * *

It took Emelius a solemn promise he would be here at the house when the children return, but finally the three young ones are off to school and silence settles over the house again. Eglantine is filling the kitchen sink. He picks up a tea towel and takes his place beside her.

Eglantine washes and he dries. They don't speak. Only the sound of the brush cleaning their plates and cutlery fills the air. He can tell she is used to handling this task alone by the way their hands keep touching when she puts a plate or glass on the drainer: it also means she makes the children work together at it.

Emelius is a quick drier. He ought to be after the amount of time he spent in the mess hall. Four years in service means endless kitchen duty: either peeling spuds, washing up or mopping floors. He was always very welcome on the teams who had kitchen duty: his jokes, silly songs and juggling often took the sting out of the waiting for orders. He entertained the men and in his small way tried to boost morale. Especially when the going got tough.

But here, in Eglantine's kitchen, he doesn't need to boost morale. He doesn't have to pretend that everything will be alright, because things already are.

He is safe. He has a comfortable bed for the night - after all: any bed is more comfortable than the one inch mattresses he has been used to sleep on. The sofa would be more comfortable. And perhaps more appropriate. At least the sofa is not on the same floor as…

Eglantine's room.

* * *

These past weeks she wondered what it would be like if he returned unexpectedly. She dreamed he would take her in his arms, like they do in the pictures, and that he would kiss her silly. She remembers laughing at her foolish notion, but here he is, standing right next to her, drying the dishes.

He kissed her, but it was a sweet kiss. Almost as if he didn't believe they were really there, in her parlour. With the children around them.

Standing next to her, with the tea towel and putting things away so easily, it is as if they have done this a thousand times before. Which is so odd, since they haven't. Not ever. Not even on that evening he cooked for them (which had been the first time in forever she had eaten fried food and it was incredible, delicious) because he and Charles had taken care of the wreckage.

She can imagine herself standing here in a month's time, in this very kitchen, looking out to the sea, with him. He will hum under his breath and she'll even sing along sometimes. Songs about the beautiful, briney sea or maybe even spells - but with a flair. One day. When they're all alright again. Because they aren't. Not all of them. Not really.

The children are better than they were when they first came to her and the loss of their parents and home was still raw and Eglantine knows that now Emelius is back, they will continue to grow and blossom. Charles and Paul especially will appreciate having a male role model.

Eglantine herself is better now Emelius is back. The worry over him perishing in foreign parts is gone and her worries about him not eating well have already lessened: he did eat when he sat across from her at the table.

Emelius, however, is far from alright. To her he feels as if he is removed from himself. A little bit of him showed when Paul opened his present: that smile was genuine.

Eglantine hopes they will see more of that smile. But she understands he still has a long way to go. He needs to land first. The way she needed to after he left and she decided not to use her magic anymore and confiscated the bedknob.

Emelius needs to find himself again and Eglantine knows that is not going to be easy at all, but with a few good meals (yes, fried food as well, she has come a long way from rosehips and stewed nettles), a couple of good nights' sleep and a good, close shave, he will at least no longer feel as if he is nothing but a soldier.

"We should go into the village," she says and Emelius nods, "See if we can get you a new toothbrush and shaving soap. If we are lucky there might be some safety razors to be had."

He nods again.

"Is that alright?" she tries to get his confirmation. When he finally answers, Eglantine is taken aback by his dejected words:

"You don't worry people will talk and your reputation will be in tatters?"


	5. Shopping for soap

"If I were worried about my reputation, I would never have responded to an advertisement for Professor Browne's Correspondent College of Witchcraft," she says.

She pulls the stopper out of the sink and watches the dirty, soapy water swirl through the drain.

"That was different," he answers and he wipes his hands on the wet tea towel before turning around to neatly hang it over the back of a chair to dry.

"Not very. You are that very same Professor Browne, aren't you?"

"Until this morning I was Corporal Browne," Emelius says with a sad smile.

"I am not worried about my reputation, Corporal," Eglantine assures him and takes the tea towel from the chair to wipe her own hands and she hangs it back on the little hook where it belongs. She will take it upstairs to the hamper later.

"I should have written to you about my worries," Emelius says and he slides his fingers over his mustache.

"This is nothing to worry about. We both know you are a gentleman. Besides, nobody in the village would possibly think I would allow any funny business when there are children in the house."

She sounds as stern and sure as she did when he first met her. Eglantine has never been someone to cross.

"Come along, I will show you the spare room and you can make the bed and change. We'll walk to the village when you are ready."

Of course he follows.

He's become accustomed to following orders.

* * *

The spare room is small but bright. There's an old double bed and a chest of drawers with a mirror over it. He puts down his kit bag and Eglantine runs her fingertips over the windowsill and shrugs when she looks at the dust that has accumulated.

"It will do for tonight. We'll have a good clean tomorrow. The sheets are on the bed and there is a blanket in the bottom drawer."

"Thank you," he says and he pulls the duffle bag open. Eglantine watches him as he takes out the parts of his suit. The hat first, then his smalls. The two shirts. He neatly lies everything on the chest and then he drapes his trousers over the rod at the foot end of the bed.

"I'll leave you it."

The door closes behind her and Emelius takes his jacket and shoes from his bag and sits down on the bed. He chuckles at the way he sinks into it and he imagines what it will be like to sleep in such an impersonal embrace.

He unties his boots and takes them off. He flexes his feet. Unlike the first time he took his shoes off in this house, his socks are whole. If an unbecoming colour. As unbecoming as most of him, including his current scent. Everything about him is smelly. He is surprised that Eglantine and the children didn't jump away from him. He can't put on his new suit whilst being this filthy.

He leans his head back and pulls up his shoulders. Everything makes noise. Clicks and creaks and it doesn't help much in terms of finding relief. But that's no matter. He is an old man now and old men are allowed to have their aches and pains.

He picks up his right boot and puts it on and then his left. He gets up and combs his hair in front of the mirror. He doesn't look at his face. He hasn't in months. He focuses on his mustache when it needs a trim and that's it. There isn't anything left to be vain about.

He quickly makes the bed and puts his book on the small table next to it.

Once he puts his side cap on, he is ready to go. If only he wouldn't be so worried about embarrassing Eglantine.

* * *

"It's nice to be quiet together," she says as they walk to the village. "When the children are home, it is rarely quiet for more than five minutes."

Emelius thinks about the noise of a platoon in a mess hall, a wave of rumbling voices, the din of spoons against plates, but nothing distinctive. It's been odd sitting in the train alone and overhearing actual conversations between fellow passengers.

"But I will gladly listen if you want to talk," she adds.

"Thank you."

He can't think of what he should be saying. There is nothing that springs to mind. Or perhaps there are too many things he wants to tell her and ask her. An overload of information to give and receive, perhaps. Even if he used to write to her as often as he could, there are a great many things he never told her.

Her letters - and the children's - were what kept him connected to a world that was more than the sound of sergeants shouting. The whistling and bangs of bullets firing. The smell of fifty unwashed men trying to get through the clay. The sight of silent weeping, of weakened, malnourished bodies. The feeling of unwashed underwear against your skin; of the icy cold, wet wind sweeping through vast grasslands as they marched. The taste of metal in his mouth as he bit so hard on the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from crying out in shock and horror at what he witnessed.

Emelius shakes his head.

He doesn't want to think about any of those things. Not when he is walking in the English countryside with his…

His…

He hasn't any idea what to call Eglantine.

"Are you alright?" she asks, giving him a worried look.

"Yes, yes. I'm fine. Just a fly buzzing around my head," he lies.

"Nearly there. Is there anything in particular that you need?" Eglantine dismisses his lie easily, but he can tell she doesn't believe him.

"A bar of soap," he says decidedly. "A new toothbrush, like you said. Toothpaste or powder, I don't much care either way. A shaving kit, or at least shaving soap and a razor. Pommade, maybe, if it is available," he pauses before continuing in a contemplative voice: "I should very much like to feel like myself again."

Eglantine reaches out and takes his hand in hers, squeezes it and lets go again. "Then that's what we will try to get."

Emelius likes that she is not trying to get his hopes up. He knows that everything is in short supply: from eggs to soap flakes. He is lucky to have a suit now, with a change of underwear and shirts, but he can't make do with only one suit, of course.

"I… erm… I will need to find some more clothes, I suppose."

"Well, I have put your old clothes in the cedar chest in the attic, so if you don't mind wearing those, there's no need to spend rations on new. Though you might consider investing in some socks."

He loves it when she jokes. It's rare and he doesn't think a lot of people get to see Eglantine Price smiling or making fun. Most people see her as inherently serious. Strange, even, but he knows better. He has seen her lips curl in a wicked little smile (at his expense, and he deserved it) and he has heard her laugh out loud.

Eglantine is referring to the socks he wore when they tried to make the substitutiary locomotion spell work, as they were more hole than sock and it's just like her to bring them up without actually saying anything about them.

"You saved my clothes?"

"Of course I did."

She says it as if it is the most normal thing in the world.

* * *

Why would he think she'd get rid of his clothes?

She has had them in the cedar chest in the attic for years and sometimes, when she felt lonely and upset that the war - this bloody long, horrible, vicious, ugly war - just kept raging on, month after month, year after year, she would open the chest and take out Emelius bright red jumper and bury her face in it, just to feel close to him.

The smell of cedar had taken over any little bit of Emelius scent after about eighteen months, but still. The soft fabric had comforted her. The bright colour had reminded her of Emelius's vivacious spirit. It helped her believe that he would return to them.

To her.

She wanted him back, not to help her carry the burden of raising three war orphans and not to have someone bring home the bacon, as it were (not that she tasted bacon in many months), but because she loves him.

She loves the man who is walking quietly next to her. His posture is of a man who is frozen upright. He is standing up straight because it was forced into him to mind his posture. Not because he is feeling particularly strong or confident.

Maybe he will tell her about the things he has seen. One day. But it's only been a few weeks since Europe was liberated and she doesn't expect him to share his pain just yet. She will have to instruct the children to be patient. Whilst she doesn't for one minute believe Emelius could be violent, she knows that a man can be very much changed by his experiences.

She has read the papers and there are stories starting to surface about the horrors that have taken place all this time in the East of Germany, in Czechoslovakia, in Poland. Eglantine can't imagine how terrifying and terrible it must have been to see such gruesome things. She doesn't know if Emelius was posted that far away: a great many of his letters that came through the Armed Forces Postal Services didn't have a foreign stamp.

Next to her she can hear Emelius taking a shuddering breath.

"I'll take your clothes from the attic: your red jumper and your trousers and your shirt and tie, once we come home."

The house has been her home ever since she was born in the room she occupies to this day. She thinks it has become a home for the children as well. With time, she hopes that it will be a home for Emelius, too.

There isn't much time to think about such things now, though. They have reached the village's centre where the shops are and Eglantine makes her way to the grocer's and opens the door. A little bell jingles to announce the possibility of a purchase.

Eglantine rummages around in her basket and finds the ration books. Emelius takes his place beside her and from behind the curtain comes Mrs Hobson.

"Good afternoon, Miss Price, I must say I didn't expect you until tomorrow at the earliest." Mrs Hobson smiles shrewdly at Emelius and Eglantine has to use all her - frankly limited - acting abilities to pretend she doesn't notice.

"We need a bar of soap," she starts, "And shaving soap and a razor. A toothbrush. Toothpaste and a small tin of pommade."

"That's quite an extensive list, Miss Price. Are you certain you have enough points?"

There is no malice in Mrs Hobson's words, she is just warning a respected customer. But it jars. It grates a little that Mrs Hobson would think Eglantine would order things she can't afford.

She puts Emelius's grant book on the counter and Mrs Hobson's eyes widen.

"I haven't seen one before. It must be yours, erm, Professor?"

Emelius nods. "Part of my demobbing grant. As a mere corporal you don't get much, but at least I am able to buy some new socks!"

Mrs Hobson laughs. Even though none of what Emelius said was particularly humorous. It is just Emelius's easy way with people.

"I'm afraid I don't have any socks at the moment Professor Browne."

"Corporal Browne," Emelius offers.

Eglantine smiles. Underneath that thoughtful sadness and profound ache, she suspects there is still a man who loves to be with people.

Emelius's hand, that he used to illustrate his words with, lands next to Eglantine's on the counter and touches her. Suddenly, in a waking dream laced with a pearlescent glow, Eglantine can see him going to the pub for a pint on Friday evenings and playing darts while laughing with the men with perfect clarity. A family man between family men. Wearing casual trousers, and a jumper over a shirt and tie. She can almost hear him speak of Charles, Carrie and Paul. Of Mrs Browne.

She will be Mrs Browne and it surprises her that she doesn't mind being called that name in the least.

Mrs Hobson is pulling things from drawers and taking things from cabinets. Eglantine keeps seeing flashes of the future: Emelius in the garden with Paul feasting on raspberries they are supposed to be picking for all of them, the pair of them covered in juice. Carrie in the barn trying out spells from the books Emelius brought her, not succeeding and getting increasingly frustrated. Charles coming home with a burn on his hand that Eglantine easily heals with a salve.

Perfectly domestic pictures, clouded in the same sparkles the bedknob used to show when Paul twisted it. Eglantine closes her eyes tightly.

"Are you alright, Miss Price?"

Mrs Hobson's voice pulls her out of her daydreaming and she pulls her hand away from Emelius's.

"Perfectly," she says with great certainty that she doesn't feel.


	6. The things they don't say

"I think a nice, long soak would do you a world of good," Eglantine says as she puts away the shopping. They have received most everything they hoped to procure, including Emelius's pommade. There are plenty of points left for the coming weeks and knowing Mrs Hobson like Eglantine does, there won't be long lines with a discouraged _sold out_ sign at the end.

"Don't you need help in the kitchen?"

Eglantine smiles and shakes her head. "The children won't be back for at least another hour and a half. I have plenty of time to do my part of the housework. When Charles and Paul come back, they will go into the garden to get us some vegetables for tonight's dinner and Carrie will help with the dusting. As long as you clean up after yourself, there isn't anything you are required to do," she pauses.

"Just yet."

Emelius wonders what his chores will be; he should like to make himself useful. His days of lounging about are behind him. In fact, he must think about finding some useful employment. Preferably profitable. He has spent so much of his life making barely enough to keep his head above water, it would be a welcome change to have money to spend instead of never knowing where his next meal is coming from.

But right now all he really needs to do is get clean. Make himself presentable.

"Now, you run along upstairs and fill the tub. Here are your soap and the other things you requested from Mrs Hobson." She hands Emelius his toiletries. Her hand feels soft and warm against his.

"I am not usually one for indulging in broad daylight, but would you like a cup of tea to take up with you?"

Emelius shakes his head. Whilst he recognises she is trying to be kind, he knows that if he were to say 'yes, please' she would think lesser of him. "Perhaps when I return ship-shape."

"Very well."

She is definitely pleased with his answer and he nods - almost as if he were nodding to the Queen (though of course Eglantine is a lot prettier) - and makes his way upstairs, holding on to his soap and shaving gear tightly.

* * *

Eglantine wipes the kitchen counter and the table. She checks how much milk and cheese she has left in the ice box (she ought to have done it before going to Mrs Hobson, but she was distracted.) She can hear Emelius go about his business upstairs: his footsteps on the landing, the opening and closing of doors and drawers. The squeaky sound of the tub's taps and the rumbling of the boiler and clattering of the water.

Emelius strikes her as one of those men who sing in the bath. She isn't entirely sure if she minds. She sits down at the table and waits for Emelius to come downstairs again while considering what happened in Mrs Hobson's shop earlier. The images of the children and Emelius flashing before her eyes and the peculiar aura surrounding them. The sparkles she remembers well from their travels with the bed. The soft glow around the edges is new, it seems to _mean_ something and she doesn't know what it could be.

If she is honest with herself, she has had those strange visions happen to her before. When she was around Carrie's age she would sometimes have flashes of what might happen in the near future. She could see herself getting into an argument with one of the girls in school, or her father leaving for work on his motorcycle.

Those visions almost always came true, but they always happened without prompting. The visions she had this afternoon, however, started when Emelius's hand touched hers on top of the counter in Mrs Hobson's shop. So there has to be a connection with the man who is upstairs in her tub.

Or could it be a simple coincidence?

Before enrolling in the Correspondent College of Witchcraft, she experienced a few of those visions and she managed to levitate light objects like feathers for a few seconds, but it wasn't until Emelius provided her with spells and potions that she fulfilled more of her potential as a witch.

Then once Paul and the bed found him and Eglantine was more in actual contact with Professor Browne, her magic started to really blossom. Without him, she would never have managed to make the armour do her bidding. That had been after the meal they shared. That he, in fact, had cooked for all of them with considerable skill.

Eglantine leans forward and leans one elbow on the table, resting her chin in her hand. Her other hand fidgets, the thumb running over the inside of her fingers. Could it really be that Emelius was the catalyst for her magical abilities?

* * *

He is standing in front of the mirror over the sink in his smalls and vest while the tub is filling. He has opened the bathroom window so the mirror won't fog up and he is running the shaving brush over his cheeks, lathering up the shaving soap.

He has loaded up the brand new safety razor and carefully shaves as closely as possible. The repetitive motions of his hand and razor are remarkably soothing. The scent of the shaving soap reminds him of the man he used to be before he enlisted. Not that he had been a dandy, mind, but he at least took a bit of an effort about his person.

The person he left behind in Pepperinge Eye, with a kind woman and three children in a big, comfortable, safe house. Where he is now, in a very clean and organised bathroom, where the tub is filling quickly. He wipes away the bits of fluffy lather in the washbasin and with a bit of water he gets rid of the few scraggly hairs that hold on to the porcelain.

Emelius sighs and takes off his vest and shorts. He avoids looking in the mirror. He knows even his sparse chest hair has gone gray. He sees it when he looks down. His skin is loose around him. The beginning of a potbelly he sported before the war is gone. The less said about the rest of him, the better.

He turns off the taps and tests the water. It's hot. Almost too hot, but that is a welcome change from the topping and tailing he has been doing with a rough flannel and cold water. He puts his foot in the tub and tears spring to his eyes from the sudden sting.

When he is finally in the bath, he takes the white flannel and the new bar of soap and starts to thoroughly wash. The insides of his elbows are surprisingly white once he is done. He doesn't give his toes too much thought while he scrubs. He remembers when he was a boy he would sing hymns and the popular songs from the music halls while being bathed. He carried on doing this even as a man, out on his luck, going to the public baths in Poplar where he lived in squalid lodgings.

He would sing there, his voice accompanied with those of many men. The notes would bounce against the tiles and echo through the halls. Song after song.

But Corporal Browne doesn't have a song to sing. His voice feels constricted in his throat when he tentatively tries.

"Eglantine… Eglantine… Oh, how you…" No. It's no use. But it's nothing to worry about. He is clean and he is safe. He thinks back to that evening in the library in the townhouse with the ticking bomb in the garden, which was decidedly _unsafe_, but he'd not really felt it then.

Eglantine had not liked it.

She wore that blue-grey suit with a soft coloured blouse and much higher heels than you'd expect from a sensible lady. She had twirled so easily in his arms (yes, he pulled her about a bit, to see what might happen and he learned his lesson) and her admitting that simple spells and charms always worked for her…

What a revelation. He saw opportunities: Eglantine as his assistant especially. Her beauty would make people run to see them. If she could do some tricks, they would be unbeatable. But she wouldn't hear of it, her eyes focused only on doing her bit in the war effort. The national emergency, she called it. Like the chaps on the news.

She managed it, too.

Her determination was what made him enlist: seeing her defeat those Jerries with nothing but her imagination, iron will and magic. He didn't want to let her down.

Eglantine's obvious pride had made it all worthwhile. As for her kisses: he carried them with him wherever he went. They had been magical, too. Different from the spells she used before, but still. Not a kind of magic to dismiss.

* * *

When the water is tepid and he feels as if he is soaking in his own filth, he rinses off, gets out of the bath and dries himself thoroughly with one of Eglantine's towels that smells of Sunlight soap. He puts on his new underwear and his new suit and he combs his hair.

The suit doesn't fit very well, but it doesn't matter. There will be women in the village who can alter it where needed. Especially his trousers are a bit on the larger side: they must have taken his measurements from his enlisting forms. But the underwear is clean and without holes and the shirt is very neat. Yes, he'll do. At least for today.

He hopes he has enough points for another jumper and maybe a spencer. If he manages to find another pair of trousers, he will do nicely.

He straightens his tie and after wiping away the ring around the bath, he hangs his wet towel over the edge, leaving the bathroom as tidy as possible. He puts his toiletries in the spare room and opens the window. The fresh air will do him good during the night.


	7. Treguna mekoides trecorum satis dee

When the children return from school, they are overjoyed Emelius is still there. It takes Eglantine and Emelius a lot of time to convince the children to do their chores and their homework. Especially Paul is a little too excited, jumping up and down, running around, almost colliding with Cosmic Creepers in the proces.

"You are still here!" The boy keeps shouting and Carrie shakes her head at him, while Charles almost hits him upside the head again before Eglantine stops him with a look and a raised eyebrow.

"Of course I am still here," Emelius says and he gives Paul a little cuddle. "There is no place on Earth I'd rather be."

"Not even the Eiffel Tower?"

"Not even the Eiffel Tower. All I ever thought of when I saw places I had never seen before, was how I hated I couldn't share it with you three and Aunt Eglantine."

"Maybe we can all go together, now the war is over!" Carrie enthuses and Charles smiles widely at the thought.

"We are not going anywhere until school is out," Eglantine decrees and he is thankful. There is a lot to be done in the world before they can take part in these flights of fancy.

"But that's only a few weeks!" Paul tells them and Eglantine takes a very deep breath.

"Before then, you still have to feed the hens, Paul. Charles, you still have your chores to do as well."

"What about Carrie?" Charles objects.

"Carrie has already done most of her chores. Unlike you, she doesn't need to be told four or five times," Eglantine says.

"Her chores are much easier!" Charles is falling feet first into the argument and Emelius is looking at Eglantine and Carrie and wonders how this will be handled.

"Would you like to do Carries chores?" Eglantine asks and not for the first time Emelius sees a little smile tug at the corner of her mouth. She has looked at him in that very same way.

"No, thanks!" Charles scamps.

"Then I suggest you do yours."

Charlie skulks off with an enormous scowl, but he doesn't give Eglantine any more lip. Emelius doesn't know what it is, but if he were to hazard a guess, it's Eglantine's tone. The certainty that if you take it any further, something bad will happen.

He puts his hands over his face to hide the smile that accompanies the thought of having been turned into a rabbit, once upon a time.

Does Eglantine still turn people into rabbits?

It wouldn't be wise, not with the shortage of meat and the amount of rabbits that are ending up on dinner plates. He would still very much like to see it again. If only once.

Carrie returns to her studies, her cheeks bright red; she hasn't said anything about Charles's outburst, but Emelius can tell she doesn't agree that her chores are easier than her brother's.

"Come on, gov, you can help me feed the hens!" Paul grabs Emelius's hand and it is small and warm and it hits Emelius, suddenly, that he is indeed _home_.

* * *

The way Paul takes Emelius's hand makes Eglantine's heart jump. Emelius made it look so natural. Obvious, almost. As if he has held Paul's hand many a time before.

The few times he did - in Portobello Road for instance - she had not really thought about it. She was preoccupied with finding the other half of Emelius's spellbook. To find a spell she thought could really help in the war effort. But honestly, it's not done much. She had such great hopes for it and she doesn't really know why. Substitutiary locomotion is not very useful at all.

Why had she thought that it would be such a gift? Witches have several gifts they can use to any advantage (or disadvantage, if they choose). Transforming bullets into butterflies would have been so much more practical. Or poisoning the Nazis water supplies. Of course either would have been impossible from her home, but once they had gotten the bed to work, it would have been a piece of cake to go to the munitions factories to tamper with the machines.

She cracks a little smile. If things really would have been so simple, she and the children - and Emelius, of course, they could not have done it without him - could have stopped the war much more effectively.

Eglantine picks up her book and pulls her legs up under her. Outside she can hear Paul chatter to Emelius and the sounds of chickens running to and fro, clucking. Carrie is very quiet by the table, only the scratching of her pen on the paper and the infrequent turning of the page can be heard. Charles is no longer stomping upstairs and he is probably already done sweeping the bedroom floors.

She wonders if things will change now Emelius has been demobbed. He said he wanted to find a job and she applauds it. A man needs to feel useful - not that a woman doesn't, but with three lively children, a large house and a pet like Cosmic Creepers, it isn't hard to find something to do - and Eglantine wonders what kind of work would be a good match for an ex-Army man. Who used to be a street entertainer. A shabby illusionist and a charmer. But he has lost some of that jovial, easy-going, sweet-talking allure. She can't see him as a salesman, going door to door.

His teaching left a lot to be desired, though he always seemed to show and tell everything with a flair that was quite catchy. After all he was the one who got that longed-for spell to work.

"Treguna mekoides trecorum satis dee," she whispers and her teacup shakes against the saucer.

Coincidence. Eglantine has said the spell many times the past four years, just because it somehow stuck with her, like the song Emelius had built around it. Cups never danced before.

"Treguna mekoides trecorum satis dee," she says again, to ease her mind.

The cup rattles again and Carrie looks up sharply.

"What is that?" she asks, a little short-winded.

"I'm… I'm not entirely sure," Eglantine stammers.

"Did you just use the substitutiary locomotion spell on that cup?"

Eglantine is a little impressed at how easily Carrie names the spell.

"Not on purpose," Eglantine admits. "I've sung that song so many times over the years and nothing ever happened since our," she searches for a word that can convey everything that happened on that moonlit night.

"Adventure?" Carrie offers.

"Yes. Our adventure."

"Do it again. It may be a fluke," Carrie says and she leaves the kitchen table and finds the book Emelius brought back from - wherever.

Eglantine stands up from the sofa, puts her own book down and points at it:

"Treguna mekoides trecorum satis dee."

It opens and the pages turn by themselves as if a gust of wind slides through the room.

"Well, that's unexpected," Carrie says and her dry tone makes Eglantine snort.

"We could try another spell," Carrie suggests.

"I am not going to try flying a broom, Carrie," Eglantine warns.

"I was thinking something a little less dangerous." Carrie opens her new book of spells and finds the first chapter and reads aloud:

"A good spell for beginners is the levitation charm: Wingardium Leviosa. Usually performed by wizards and witches who brandish a wand. The movement for wizards and witches using wandless magic, is similar to those who use a wand., the so-called: swish and flick."

Carrie demonstrates the movement and the teaspoon tinkles on the saucer next to the sup.

"It works!" Carrie jumps up and down excitedly. "You try!"

"What are the words again?"

"Wingardium leviosa," Carrie says slowly.

With a fairly elegant movement of her hand and the precise enunciation, Eglantine performs the spell and the teaspoon starts to float. As long as Eglantine keeps pointing at it, it keeps hovering in the air.

"Can I try again?"

Eglantine nods, a little overwhelmed by how the day is panning out.

Carrie stands tall and tries to be as mature as Eglantine while doing the spell and the spoon goes flying again. Not as smoothly as it did for Eglantine, but it does and Carrie is softly squeeing under her breath until her arm gets tired and the spoon falls on the floor.

"Uncle Emelius!" she shouts and Eglantine is surprised Carrie remembers he is in the garden with Paul.

Emelius appears in the doorframe of the kitchen door that was left open and Eglantine is a little breathless at the sight of him. He hasn't been back for five hours and already her whole world is turning upside down. Infuriating man.

Tears spring to her eyes.

She missed him and it is aggravating a mere man is making her feel this way.

"Are you alright?" He sounds genuinely worried and it makes her want to roll her eyes and fall in his arms. So she just stands there and touches Carrie's shoulder.

"Show him," she says, her voice sounding foreign to her own ears.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" Carrie moves her hand the way the book showed and the teaspoon rises again. It's not very steady, but it moves and Carrie is very excited.

"Now you show Uncle Emelius!" Carrie orders and upstairs Eglantine can hear Charles opening his bedroom door and the lad is on the landing before she has the words out.

Eglantine sends the teaspoon floating through the room. She is a little impressed with her ability to make it fly in a straight line . She even tries a little loop-de-loop and Paul is clapping.

"I thought you gave up all that," Emelius asks. There is wonder in his voice and a bit of admiration.

"I did. Spells haven't worked for me ever since the barn blew up."

"It's because you are home now!" Paul says to Emelius with his indomitable spirit shining brightly.

"I doubt that very much, Paul."

But Eglantine doesn't. The only thing that changed between today and yesterday is Emelius's presence and if that is the case - if Emelius is the one who fuels her magic - then Carrie is even more exceptional.

For Carrie is sparking all by herself.


End file.
